I may find you.
If you want, note me for the name.
P.S. No one caught the pageviews, sadly. Although it isn't surprising, since I haven't posted anything in forever
P.P.S. I'm working on something.
P.P.P.S. This is a bit excessive, don't you think?


silver-iodidei. you were simple hearted and liked the incoherent speech that you got from jimson weed.silver-iodide
i always nodded and let you talk so that i'd forget to be embarrased.
We went into town and bought junk jewlery
with too big bits of cubic zirconium. your fingers looked like the fins on a sea raven, crooked
and reddish purple from the bruises you got from trying to pull rings that you married yourself to off your fingers.
ii. you had a violinists grace and a sheller's personality. you were silver-tongued and knew your way around back alleys and over chain-link fences. we only had one in


CoinsMari Once, Joey told me that he only started noticing parking meters after he got his permit. He brought it up when I didnt know what to talk about, like hed been thinking about it for a while and he wouldnt have another chance to say it. I wasnt old enough to take the test, but after that I started noticing them, too.Coins
Joey This is weird, but Ive always liked how thick nickels are. Theyre the only coins that feel three-dimensional. After I started driving, I started using all my dimes and quarters, and the nickels started collecting under the seats and in my pockets. Even if I could


My sweatshirt is too tight...1. My sweatshirt is too tight,My sweatshirt is too tight...
and I pull the fabric away from my arms like fatty skin.
2. Were walking across the football field, and Dianes shoelaces drag mud across her ankles. When she tells stories it feels like shes living
inside of everyone else, giving them reasons and inhaling the way they eat, the way their hair hangs. Im too scared to ask her why, because she might forget how to do it.
1. Its too warm for my sweatshirt and I let it twist behind my waist, the empty sleeves reaching


PMSYou start to sympathise with street lamps. You wish to write letters to places you will visit: mountains denying embraces, orPMS
just the longest, straightest roads in existence, leading into heated gasoline mist
and Nowhere. You will fold these letters into cranes, watch them fly
into crannies behind waterfalls, where there is no plastic soup.
Instead,
you dilute paints to watch their colour fade - life
is washed away by bright light, like palomino horses without blankets in Australia. Rays from the sun fall like swordfish, point down,
and you have to wonder, &


The Last TimeThe last time I was alive, I had a drawer. It was filled with cigarettes and booze. Specifically, three packs of clove cigarettes, a half-drunk bottle of sake my mother bought me, and a water bottle filled with rum.The Last Time
I had big bottles of liquor
in my underwear drawer wrapped in big shirts
given to me by men I've slept with. One was orange. And one was black. I drank two liters way. too. fast.
The last time I was alive,
I stabbed tens of needles into my legs and like leeches, they sucked the pathos out of my blood. &
quite
theyou
ng(cyn-i-
cal)xpo
et(ess.)
hmm.
I won-
der.what.y
ou(look-l
ike.)
)
--
just like yesterday.
It's not that exciting, let me assure you}
i am assured.
--
just like yesterday.
It was a bad response on my part-- I'm a bit out of it.
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